Guess what? Loving your body the way it is means you never have to make healthy decisions about what you eat/drink or exercise. The moment you decide to love your body is the first moment you can eat whatever you want, however much of it you want, and sit on your comfy booty until your heart’s content!
APRIL FOOLS! Oh man! I so got you!
(Whoa. Is that a scary picture or what? So sorry. I tend to underestimate my natural scare factor.)
I get questioned a lot on this subject as a self-love warrior. If I tell someone I’ll be late to something because I’m going for a run or that I can’t meet them for lunch at Burgers R Us because I packed something healthy, they might reply with, “Why bother? As a self-love warrior (is that what you call yourself?) you’re supposed to love yourself the way you are, right? What’s the point of diet and exercise? Here. Eat a burger and drink nine beers. You love yourself. Just do it.”
I can definitely see their point in this logic. (It’s quite easy to see their point when I’m half way through a five-mile run and want to barf all over myself or when I’m munching on a side salad whilst inhaling the intoxicating aroma of a giant and forbidden bowl of crispy, golden fries sitting ohhhhh 3.2 inches away from my face.) Your body is your body is your body, no matter how far away it is from society’s cookie-cutter beauty standard. And yes, I believe you should love it no matter what it looks like.
That said, I don’t think constantly eating junk food and leading a sedentary lifestyle is loving your body.
Sorry, fries and couch. I love you both but we need to stop hanging out so frequently. It’s not you — it’s me.
For several years in a row I gave up fried food for Lent. It was always quite the miserable 40 days; at each meal (especially those out at restaurants) I’d sit and silently curse myself for doing it. “Ugh. I’m SO not doing this next year. Fries are so delicious and, let’s be honest, every freaking thing comes fried now. If I want to avoid fried food, I should just eat grass and drink water because I’m certain that even Diet Coke comes deep fried now.”
(I can be a little over dramatic sometimes. I try to pass it off as endearing. Just go with it.)
At the end of Lent I’d always break my fast with a meal that looks something like this: a big ole’ order of fries with a side of burger (yep, I said that right) deep fried with fried donuts for dessert. (Am I exaggerating?)
And it would taste like it was deep fried in angel tears. And twenty minutes later I’d be doubled over in pain.
I don’t know about you, but whenever I eat crappy, over processed, generally-nutritionally-void food, I tend to feel weighed down and lethargic afterward. After eating out, the last thing I want to do is anything active. Or productive. Or useful. I just want to plop down on the couch, flip on the TV, and veg while my body expels every ounce of energy it has to digest the monstrosities I’ve just consumed. Until three hours later when I get a little hungrier (not enough so for an actual meal) and reach for something easy. Small but fun. A bag of Cheetos, perhaps. And then, the next morning, I feel a bit gloomy on top of feeling bloated and uncomfortable. And so I don’t feel like taking the time to fix a healthy breakfast or lunch. So I run through the Starbucks drive-thru and get a gigantic latte and a huge bagel with gobs of cream cheese. I promise myself I’ll have a salad for lunch. My body needs some vegetables, I can feel it. And I sit in my cube and stare at my computer screen until my eyeballs feel like they’re going to fall out. And then I realize it’s noon. So I get in my car and head out in search of said salad. I go to Subway, because I can get a salad there. But I can also get a sub. And really, isn’t that a better choice? And I’ll get mayo just this once.
Before I know what hit me, I’m crumpled on the floor of my room in tears because I’ve eaten crappy food for too many days in a row and haven’t exercised enough and my body is telling me that it is fed up the only way it knows how.
Crappy food begets lethargy begets more crappy food begets lethargy begets
Now, am I saying that eating out (even fried food) will lead you to depression? Absolutely not. No way no how. Most of my favorite memories with friends have happened over meals in fun restaurants. And, I could never give up fries forever, even if someone came out and told me that fries are actually fried in arsenic. I’d likely die eventually of arsenic poison.
But. Your body is your baby, and it’s the only one you have. You wouldn’t feed your baby crappy, fattening food 24/7 and let it sit in front of the TV all day, would you? (I have connections at DCF. Don’t make me call them on you!)
To truly love your body –your baby– you’ve got to feed it the things it needs to keep it healthy. You’ve got to keep it hydrated. You’ve got to exercise to make sure your muscles are strong and that your heart and lungs work properly. You’ve got to have regular check ups.
But you can do all of that and take it out for ice cream or a beer every now and again. Loving your body is not depriving it of fun and treats. Loving your body is simply that: